9/4/00

They came here to teach us what?!

    Ideology?! Now wait a minute, this is Israel, and the 20th century is long gone; so who are these hardy, starry-eyed trailblazers, these Zionist pioneers with the unmistakeable Anglo accents?
    And such nerve!
    Kibbutz Chutzpah (on the map it's Kibbutz Tuval, an inch left of Karmiel) was founded just when the collective concept began foundering. They came here not from Poland and Austro-Hungary, but from Britain and South Africa. They had hardly unpacked when they had this idea: let's teach Zionism to Israelis.
    They really did.
    "It's logical," says Australian Richard Milecki, one of Tuval's 37 members. "The kibbutzniks looked at themselves and said, we're not industrialists, we're not farmers; most of us either studied psychology, or we're teachers, we're good madrichim (counselors) -- why don't we set up a business so we can sell our skills? That's where it started."
    They set up Tuval Seminar Center in 1985, just four years after the original nucleus immigrated. "We did Zionism seminars for Israeli kids," Richard says, and laughs. "I can't believe we did that! These kids came and said, what are you guys doing here? Are you crazy?!"
    The logic is consistently illogical: leftists settled by the grace of Ariel Sharon, Western college graduates made into farmers on unfarmable land, post-Zionist Zionists with a politically-correct worldview driving a Jewish wedge in an entirely Arab area.
    The 20-odd families of Tuval operate a cowshed, three chicken runs and a kiwi plantation, but it became clear that extensive agriculture would harvest little more than rocks. That's when the idea of a seminar center was conceived.
    "We started with two topics: Arab-Jewish relations in the Galilee -- it was fitting, because as you can see, we're completely surrounded by Arab villages on all sides -- and the issue of the pioneers, because even though it was the 1980s, people here felt like they were pioneers."
    In that particular program, the Tuval staff takes participants to the Kinneret Courtyard, where the kibbutz concept germinated. They recreate the conditions of nearly a century ago, through playacting, audience participation, story-telling, songs, and readings.
    The establishment of the first kibbutz at Deganya was not planned, it evolved, and the spark was a protest against a fellow named Berman.
    "The Courtyard, at the entrance of Moshavat Kinneret, was, you could say, the first Jewish project here; Berman set it up, and young Jews lived, worked, and farmed there. But when Berman brought in Arab laborers to help him build a 200-square-meter house for himself, the Jews called a strike. Later, a second strike was called after someone died of yellow fever and Berman limited the number of people going to the funeral in Tiberias. That led to the beginning of Deganya."
    At the Courtyard, at Deganya, and even where Berman's villa was thwarted (the building's foundations are still there), the story of the first kibbutz is told by members of one of the last.
    "We also go to the Kinneret cemetery, the most fascinating place of all. That's where people like Berl Katznelson, Hess, Borochov, and Rachel the Poet are buried, and the way the cemetery is set up tells a lot -- who's next to who, who's away from who, who's out the back, who's at the front."

TUVAL OFFERS a mixed bag of interesting seminars, ranging from political tours of the Golan -- and they're not above playing the provocative devil's advocate on the question of territorial compromise -- to eye-opening programs in nearby Arab villages.
    Richard is in charge of programs dealing with the business community. If you've ever thought there's room for improvement in our bank managers, corporate executives and even the police force, the good news is, Tuval is working on it. Through what they call "adventure training," a series of physical activities engenders teamwork and enlightened management.
    You can catch a glimpse of what this is all about from the Acre-Karmiel road. (Actually, with exceptional eyesight, it's visible from as far away as the Golan and Haifa.) Way, way above, on a soaring mitzpe where Tuval looms above Majd El Krum, is what looks like a remnant from the stockade-and-tower era. Practically on the cliff, rising six stories high, is a vertical wooden playground for bank managers and the like.
    By the look of it, this is where you'd want to bring your boss if you hate him.
    "Bank managers don't like to pass up a challenge," Richard laughs, as we squint into the blue sky, which is where this wall seems to end. "But I can convince people to go up this, because, as you can see, I don't look like a guy who climbs Everest."
    The wall, studded with metal and wooden bits, is scaled by rappeling; the reward for reaching the top is a spectacular view, and the right to boast "I did it" to the guys back in the office. But in fact, Richard induces the least confident to try it -- even paper-pushers in their 50s, women too.
    The wall is the last of a series of challenges and activities set up among the rocks and oaks of the kibbutz grounds. The course, which was built by an American company, is designed to enhance problem-solving, communication, leadership, group development, team building, cooperation.
    That can all be taught in a lecture hall, but this is more fun. Pudgy, middle-aged people get to escape the office for a day or two, and play.
    They start on what looks like a huge spider's web, and if they survive that, proceed to the second stage, a platform. You get on the platform in order to fall off it -- backwards. "Builds trust," Richard explains. (Or possibly the opposite, I think; I'd want to choose the co-worker who's supposed to catch me.)
     Next is a seesaw. A huge seesaw, for up to 20 people working together to balance themselves out, the objective being that neither end of the seesaw should touch the ground. Then there's the "Mohawk Walk," a 30-meter tightrope, and finally, that wall.
    By the time you've abseiled down from the clouds, feeling yourself a full-fledged Tarzan, you should be a better office worker. 
    ... Thanks to a bunch of farmers.